


Why This Way?

by orphan_account



Category: Red vs Blue
Genre: ??idk i dont think its super graphic, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Loss of Limbs, Mild Language, Multi, Non-Graphic Violence, RvB Bingo War, bc im planning a pre pfl fic and he doesnt go by wash yet soooo, that 2nd wash tag is just specifically for my wash is all
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-09
Updated: 2017-04-09
Packaged: 2018-10-16 21:51:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10580193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Lavernius Tucker thought he had lost his soulmate when he was 16, the sloppy cursive spelling out ‘David’ on his wrist hadn’t fully disappeared like most marks do when you lose your soulmate, the color just faded from a sky blue to a dull sepia that was barely visible against his dark skin. 12 years and throwing one Meta off a cliff with a warthog later he meets Agent Washington. Something in his chest flutters when he kneels to start undoing the clasps of Washington’s armor, it’s probably just the adrenaline.It wouldn’t be for another two years But of course, that wasn’t the case. Apparently, the universe doesn’t take having to cut off your arm into consideration when it tells you if your soulmate is alive or not. Tucker really wishes he just hadn’t had to of found out like this.





	

Lavernius Tucker thought he had lost his soulmate when he was 16, the sloppy cursive spelling out ‘David’ on his wrist hadn’t fully disappeared like most marks do when you lose your soulmate, the color just faded from a sky blue to a dull sepia that was barely visible against his dark skin. 12 years and throwing one Meta off a cliff with a warthog later he meets Agent Washington. Something in his chest flutters when he kneels to start undoing the clasps of Washington’s armor, it’s probably just the adrenaline.

It wouldn’t be for another two years But of course, that wasn’t the case. Apparently, the universe doesn’t take having to cut off your arm into consideration when it tells you if your soulmate is alive or not. Tucker really wishes he just hadn’t had to of found out like this.

Over, and over, and over. Tucker just can’t get it out of his head, how could he? This isn’t his to see, it feels like a huge breach of Wash’s privacy _, of his trust_. The memory is picture perfect in clarity. Every little detail.

 

_Armored boots pounding against the ground, kicking up dust with every step. The weight of a rifle in his arms, the sting of the recoil when it slams back against his shoulder, shot clean through. The smell of gunpowder, plasma, fresh dead bodies, the taste of dust and blood is heavy on his tongue, voices yelling in his ear reporting casualties, asking for orders._

_An Elite on his two. Don’t stop, keep moving. Zigzag around behind it. Switch to his sidearm loaded with explosive bullets. One, two, three shots it’s down. Move. Hit a ledge, solid fifteen-foot drop, jump anyway, feet first. His stomach drops, ignore it. Focus on the ground rushing closer. Relax his muscles. Knees bent. Use the balls of his feet. Roll. Brace himself._

_He feels the force of the impact run up his legs. Rolls once before jumping to his feet. Seven of them dead ahead, St. Clair down to her last clip. He grabs his sidearm and whistles to get her attention. Throw it. She catches it and both of you duck behind cover. She unclips her last grenade, mumbles a prayer as she throws it, hitting a Grunts gas tank and exploding on impact. Shoot the rest of them down while they recover from the blast._

_“We’re almost to your location Palmer. Hang in there.”_

_“Well hurry the fuck-up! Bradley’s already out, and I just loaded my last clip. O’Hare’s down—shit—took three to the chest.”_

_“Copy. St. Clair?”_

_“Already told Angel to alert base.”_

_He spots Palmer firing off her last shot on his left. Once she ducks back down switch to automatic and fire. He slides to cover as the Covies start shooting back. Duck out. Aim. Fire another round. Two Elites fall. Sigh in relief when Angel's voice crackles over the coms._

_“E.T.A seven minutes’ people. Hold on out for me.”_

 

The next seven minutes is all it takes. Another fire-team bunker down and helps pop off the last few of them. They scavenge the bodies, taking what they can. Then—

Wash crouches down to check on O’Hare, back to the bodies. With everyone treating other injuries, clearing a L.Z, and just being completely exhausted, no one sees the Elite rise, and drag itself over just enough to swing its sword.

 

_He feels a burning pain lace its way across his arm, looking down everything slows. The plasma burns like nothing he’s ever felt before. He watches his flesh melt and burn, the layers being exposed one after the other until it hits bone. He blacks out the last nanoseconds it takes the sword to slice through his arm. His vision returns and he’s staring up at the sky. The sky on this planet burns with reds, and oranges, almost like a flame. It’s then that he realizes that he’s screaming._

_“—aro!”_

_“Shit—io foam! Who the hell— “_

_“Everyone—thirty seconds—off!”_

_The last thing he sees before passing out is Palmer kneeling in front of him, she’s saying something. It’s muddled, and far away. Almost like he’s underwater._

_“You don’t get to die on me today you son of a bitch, David.”_

 

Tucker thinks he’s going to be sick.

**Author's Note:**

> shrugs I like pain


End file.
